


Fragile Thinking

by kawaiisempaiparis



Category: Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: Angst, Angst and Romance, F/M, Fanfiction, Novel, Obsession, Obsessive Behavior, Psychological Drama, Romance, Romance Novel, Teen Angst, Teen Romance, amateur, fan fiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:42:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 6,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23871046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kawaiisempaiparis/pseuds/kawaiisempaiparis
Summary: It's love at first sight at a glance, but there's a deeper meaning behind love for Paris. She just has to find out what it means to love and be loved.Read through the mind of an obsessive thinker when she meets a pretty and rude boy.This story is supposed to act as a representation of obsession and obsessive romance. This is not glorification, just a story of what it feels like.Character and setting inspiration from CMBYN.





	1. Him.

Summer after my graduation had come, the heat finally beginning to die down. I decided it'd be best if I head out.

A new coffee shop had opened just down my street. This was ordinary for a city with inhabitants like me. They were all ambitious entrepreneurial students with high hopes and high expectations. As I walked in, I was hit with the blunt and awfully bitter smell of coffee. I scrunched up my nose suddenly out of instinct, eyes scanning around my unfamiliar surroundings. My nausea and pounding headache from the night before still had barely subsided.

“Good morning.” I was greeted by a tender.

I whipped my head around to face the figure standing in front of me, hearing the words he spoke but not quite registering them. 

"Ah, um, I'm sorry?" I questioned, silently cursing at the way my hearing had failed me. 

“Good morning,” he repeated nonchalantly, his mind clearly overwhelmed by the busyness of the newly opened shop. 

"Oh, right, good morning." The words stumbled out of my mouth as I looked down at the hands shoved in my pockets. It became my natural stance as I grew older.

“What can I get for you?” He asked me, tilting his head down in an attempt to catch my gaze.

“Oh uh, I'll take whatever you like the best, I've never ordered here before,” I responded, snapping myself out of my daze. I realized after I spoke how dumb of a statement that was, considering that this coffee shop was new, and that it was also a first to more than half of the people in here.

“Alright, then. I'll have it out for you in a second,” he said, flashing me the same fake smile all employees had to show to costumers.

I managed to find a lone table in the corner of the shop and pulled out the chair. With a creak, I sat down and turned to the window. I put my headphones on and began staring outside.

_That’s when I saw it._

The most important thing I would ever see. They walked at a slow pace, like everyone else does in the morning. He sat down across from the shop and pulled a book from the bag he was carrying. The way he held it, so careful and gentle, made me wonder if he held people that way. I would’ve sat there for hours, just watching, if the tender hadn’t shouted to me that my drink was done. I walked over, grabbed, then walked again out of the door still wondering about _him_. The sound of the door chime had scared. It made me wonder though, what did _his_ voice sound like, did it ring, did it pierce, was it sweet, pugnacious? What kind of noises did his pretty mouth make.

Then my feet began to carry me home, abstracted in my thoughts, I began to make my way on the stone path outside the shop. My mind decided to cut into its absence and my head tucked lower into my shoulders, rounding my back and making myself smaller as I walked past _him_. His gaze didn’t stray from the book. _Why didn’t It stray from the book? Was it more interesting than me?_ Maybe it was, I couldn’t know. I’d only just seen him. Its only natural for people to want attention, I’m not wrong for wanting it even if it was from someone I could only call _him_.

I kept walking, but I felt like I should stop. If I wanted to know what his voice sounded like, _why he wouldn't look away from his book_ , I’d have to stop.

_Stop, come on stop, I have to stop._

I repeated the words to myself, I couldn’t just pass him. Something about him absolutely drew me. _Maybe his hair?_ The brown curly hair, falling, bouncing below his ears. _Was it his posture?_ I’ve always had an attraction to posture. I believe the way someone carries themselves can expose something within them that they couldn’t necessarily express through words. The tall, straight backs show confidence and experience, they have emotional confidence not always ego, but pride that could allow them to do anything. He had this posture, so upright but folded himself down when he read his book.

The book held his attention and forced him down, a wilted flower drained by the sun. A power I wish I had over, to command his body to fold closer towards me.

_Stop, you need to stop._

I repeated again in my head after my thoughts side tracked, and then I did. I stopped. Still looking down, I was almost fifty paces away from the bench, but I lifted my head, straightened my back and turned around. Perfect posture much like his, my eyes fixed on what I wanted. I looked at him and his book, one hand opening its pages, his feet planted on the floor, elbows on his knees, an immense focus.

_What if I’m interrupting?_

I’ve always hated when someone intruded on me when all I wanted was to be alone, which seemed to be often. I hoped he didn’t want to be alone, _please be nothing like me_ , I can’t stand me nor anyone else in that state. I noticed the sky was suddenly more gray, and the clouds seemed thick with rain. Was it the weather or my mind that made the scenery seem so much... darker, slower. I closed the distance, now only 10 paces away, if he looked up now I’d be caught staring. I looked down at the cement I was walking on, and then I sat down.


	2. Look.

He was next to me, I next to him.

A touch was just a small reach away. I crossed my legs to make the distance bigger and to make some kind of noise so maybe he would notice. But to no avail, he gave me nothing, not even a flinch.

_Was he ignoring me?_

I wanted to rip the book from his palms.

_Look at me._

“Hello,” he said. His eyes remaining fixed on the small words printed on the book's pages.

He had caught me staring, one of the more embarrassing ways he could’ve noticed me. He had an amazing awareness of the world around him, yet he managed to stay fixated on his book. I shifted my gaze back to the phone in my hand, still playing music through my headphones. I ripped them out swiftly.

“H-“ I coughed, curse the dry air. “Hello.”

“You seem more interested in my book than I am,”

“Oh no, I just noticed you seemed really into it,”

“I am, thanks for noticing,” he said. There was almost no influction in his voice. A 'thank you' that held no meaning.

“Im sorry, am I distracting you,”

“You aren’t distracting me, but I couldn’t just say nothing to you,” he paused. “You’ve been looking at me since you walked out that shop,” he said as he flipped the page.

This was not going as planned, I was trying to make a shy smile on my face as if to tell him, _I'm was happy you noticed me_. Instead I just looked further down into my legs which I uncrossed in an uncomfortable fidget. I slouched, trying to make myself smaller, I wanted to hide from him.

“Sit up straight, you don’t have anything to be embarrassed about,” he said.

Again no influction, the statement was hardly personal. A command. I did as I was told, and I shifted my gaze once more back to the book.

“It's Heart of Darkness,” he said, “I know you want to know,” he continued.

“I guess the book fits this kind of day, dampening a good mood,” I returned.

“I wouldn’t say that, its just telling a hard truth with some theatrics,”

“Hard truths are my least favorite to hear,” I looked at his hair now. The soft brown looked so inviting, it begged me touch it.

_Why isn’t he looking at me?_

“Why haven’t you looked at me?” I asked. My thoughts had vocalized themselves against my will.

“You haven’t said anything thats peaked my interest. Try harder,” he answered.

“That was mean,” I said. Coming off more pouty than I had intended.

“Well I'm not gonna hold a hard truth back just because you don’t like them,” he paused, “no one enjoys having their feelings hurt.” He flipped another page, shifting his weight slightly. It was like he’d forgotten that he could move on his own while he was reading. He was so gorgeous. Just the way he moved was attractive on its own.

“Getting your feelings hurt is something everyone needs,” I said looking straight forward at the shop sign. “I want to hurt yours now,” I said, nervously folding my hands down in my lap. My eyes never straying from the shop sign.

He glanced over at my legs next to his.

The attention felt like nothing before, I wanted him to look at me more. His gaze held something magnificent in it. It made me want more and more now that he had given me some, I wanted a mile for his inch. I wanted him to look at my waist, my stomach, my arms, my shoulders, my neck, my face. I wanted him to analyze every inch of me, taking all of me in. Every insecurity I have about myself would fade away just because he had seen me. It didn’t matter if it made me feel nervous or uncomfortable, I just wanted him to look. _To see._

“Now that would be hard to do. But I want to see you try,” he said. His gaze had returned to his book during my barrage of thoughts.

“You mean right now?” I asked him.

“No, I want you to try when you know something about me. I want you to make it count,”

“I know things about you,” I whispered under my breath. Desperate to prove him wrong, to prove to him I could have confidence like his.

“Please, tell me what you know about me, stranger, “ he said, turning another page.

_Stop looking at that damn book._

“You’re mean… you like to read,” I said as I leaned in and ran my finger on the edge of his book.

_Why did I do that? Did he think it was weird? Where did the courage, to touch what was his, come from?_

“And you pay attention to the things around you even though you seem distracted,” I continued.

“Very astute observation detective,” he said.

He made a joke. The first sense of comical relief in this conversation. _Thank you_.

“Thanks,” I said after quickly retracting my hand from his belonging and tucking it between my knees. He made me nervous.

I didn’t like it. That was a lie. _I did like it._

He didn’t say anything to me for the next three pages. How was I supposed to get his attention when he only spared one glance at me.

_Look at me._

_Please, just look at me one more time._


	3. Killing.

“Uh, I think I’ll get going now,” I said, hesitating to stand up.

I didn’t actually want to leave, but I was afraid I was making him feel awkward.

I had a tendency to enjoy silence. Even when I had other people around me, sometimes silence just spoke more than words. To enjoy it meant that, not only you, but the other person was comfortable and relaxed. If you and another person can simply sit and just revel in existing so closely together, nothing could break that bond. But if this wasn't the case, then tension would rise. Tension that I was in no place to make. If I made him feel uncomfortable, then he wouldn't want to be around me. It's simple human nature, you do what you enjoy and I enjoyed being next to him. Silence was a blessing.

He said nothing, and he didn’t look up.

 _Please look up, please just one more time, look at me before I go._

I needed anything from him. I just needed a sparing glance, a little wave of his hand. He could've screamed and shouted at me. Anything to signify that he knew I was there, anything to make him remember the girl he met today.

_ You're killing me, can't you see that you're killing _ me. 

Suddenly, I felt hot. I felt rage, it boiled inside of me. It made my mind feel like acid, pouring out of me and escaping me however it could.

_Look at me. Look at me. Look at me. You're killing me, please let me live._

“I think I hated meeting you,” I said. I wanted it to hurt, I wanted him to question himself. I wanted him to think, _what did I do wrong?_ Instead it came out as a weak insult, a weak telling of my feelings.

If only he could've felt the acid, burning me the same way I did. 

He sized me up slowly, looking me up and down. At my shoes, then my thighs. His gaze ran up my arm and choked my neck before locking eyes with me. He scoffed, shook his head, and lost his smirk before giving me a look I would never be able to forget. He turned his head to the side and looked in me, no, he looked through me. He exerted intimidation that made me shiver inside. I gulped, feeling my body become helpless to him.

He finally spoke, “Don’t be so fragile.”

He said it while narrowing his eyes, as if I had no place to be in front of him like this. He scowled at me, as though he could kill me with this look. 

I practically collapsed at the word.

Fragile.

 _Fragile, fragile, fragile_.

I knew he meant it as an insult, like I was something so close to shattering that the lightest touch could end my existence. I knew he meant it as though he could end me, he could be the final blow to knock me off the edge where I would fall and break.

I wanted him to mean it differently. As a term of endearment. I wanted that so badly. I wanted him to think me like a precious stone, valuable and so precious. I wanted him to mean that I was graceful, so perfectly placed or molded that all anyone could do was look and not touch. I wanted to hear him say it again. I wanted to hear him speak that word to me until I went mad. I wanted to hear him call me fragile over and over again.

_I needed to hear him say it again._

I walked away.

I left him.

_Why did he have to make me feel this way?_

I wanted to rush back to him and pull the book from his hands, tear it's pages out. I wanted him to look at me instead of that book. I wanted to wear its words. Have them tattooed on my body so he’d be forced to inspect me.

I turned around again, I was now walking back to him.

_What was I going to do?_

I didn’t know, I had no plan. Whatever it was, I knew it wasn’t going to be graceful.


	4. Name.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> he's a free range chicken.

I was walking so quick my mind didn’t have enough time to make a rational decision of what I was going to do, I had no course of action.

I was in front of him again.

I closed the five feet of space between us. He didn’t need to look, he knew I was there. I hated this attribute of his.

A reaction is what I wanted from him, a reaction is what I _craved_. 

Then I dropped to my knees, and looked up at his face. Oh his face, it was even better than it was 27 seconds ago. I snatched the book from his hands, and closed it. He looked now, mad and confused.

The same feeling that filled me the first time returned. The adrenaline pumped through my body. It felt solid through my veins. At this moment, I felt as though I could do anything I wanted. I was capable of doing anything and everything. 

“My name is Paris, and I’m going to take your book,” I said. 

I was desperately trying to keep my breathing under control, I wasn't used to this. This confidence wasn't my own, it wasn't even of this world. 

“What?” He asked.

Neither of us were smiling or joking.

“If you want it back, you’ll have to make me give it back,” I said to him. A serious expression took over my face as I stood up and walked away. I looked back. He looked around then looked back at me, tilting his head again to the right. The same way he had when he instilled that palpable amount of fear, when he sent guilt and shame throughout my body. 

_How can a look hold so much power?_

His attention felt so much different now. Now that I had done something that he didn't like it felt genuinely dangerous, as if it were an entity of it's own. 

He didn't chase me. He didn't even try to stop me.

_Did he think I would come back?_

Coercion by shame and guilt wasn't enough to make me turn back again. I had crossed a line and I wouldn't be able to step back over it. 

I quickly turned the corner, ran up the steps, and unlocked my apartment. I had been living alone for a while now. My space had minimal decoration, just the necessities. A bed, a bathroom, a mirror, and a trunk of clothes. I didn’t bother turning the lights on. I left the room gray with the outside gloom as the only illumination. This was my only sanctuary, the only place I felt completely safe. The darkness added to the comfort. If I can't see whats in the dark, I could run from it forever. I would never have to believe something was real if I couldn't see in front of me.

I sat on the edge of my bed, finally trying to control my breathing. Since my outburst, I couldn’t breath comfortably. It was like I had forgotten how it felt to feel solace. Now I realized I was shaking, where did that confidence come from? Confidence wasn’t the right word.

_Where did that compulsion come from?_

Had he really made me that upset. No. I wanted an excuse to see him again. After I said I hated our encounter, I still wanted to see him again. I climbed further up my bed and leaned my back against the bed frame, bending my knees so my arms could rest on them like his did when he was reading. I grabbed my head, covered my face and tilted my head back. I screamed.

I shot forward and laughed out of shock at what I’d done.

“Im really crazy aren’t I,” I said out loud, “I’ve really lost it now.”

I dropped my head in-between my knees.

In my peripheral, I could see the book laying next to me. It had no idea all the trouble it caused me.

His name. I didn’t know it. I just stole from someone I had one conversation with, someone who I said I hated and yet I couldn’t stop thinking about since I first saw them. This was hardly love at first sight. More like an obsession I just happened to stumble upon. An obsession to just know his name, for now. I opened the cover and looked at the list of names that’d previously borrowed the book from the library. Scanning down the list, I carefully read every character. Each one was traced with my index finger, slowly, as to not smudge any pencil. An S followed by an A- W- Y- E- and finally a R. Just one name, no last name, or maybe this was his last name. Whatever is was I didn’t care, I had a title to call him.

_Sawyer._

I hated it. It sounded pretentious, like a well known name of a company or a medieval boy's name. I wonder how many other people had thought the same thing. A rude boy with a pretentious name, a bad attitude, a decent choice in books, and a pretty face.

_What a mistake I've made._

I'd fallen for boy with an ugly name.


	5. Love.

_I'd fallen for a boy with an ugly name._

Had I really fallen for him. We’d had one run in, and it was a mediocre chat at best. I don't think I like him. I said I hated meeting him, and I _meant_ it. 

I scuttled to lay down on my right side, facing the window. 

I decided that I couldn’t call him by his name, I just didn’t like it. How many other women had called him by that name. I didn’t mind calling him _him_ , maybe I would stick with that until I found something new to call him. I wonder if, when we met again, he’d tell me his full name.

_When we met again._

I liked the idea of that.

I liked the _idea_ of seeing his face, even if it scared me so much that I genuinely shuttered with fear.

How would he find me again, he would have to find me if he wanted his book back before the return date. June 27th.

_I should just give his book back tomorrow and then forget his name._

I didn’t even want to think his name any more. I didn't want it tumbling around in my brain, circling through my thoughts, forcing me to think about him. But I knew that his disgusting name would remain engraved in my brain. The boy I met one day, who was mean, and enraptured me completely with his mannerism. I didn’t want to associate his name with anything, not with the new coffee shop, not the bench, or the fountain behind it; not my home, my bed, or my dreams.

I spent the rest of the night reasoning with myself that I didn’t fall for him, _I didn’t know him_ , and I certainly didn’t want to whisper his name while I slept. I didn’t even want to see him in real life or at all again. Every single one of my thoughts contradicted themselves. Constantly questioning, repeating, and reasoning. Reasoning was what I lacked most. I had let myself get swept up in a quick romances before, and a fear of commitment is what kept them quick. I don’t want to be stuck with one person, I don’t want to fix all my attention to one person just because we’re in a relationship.

_It would be different if it was him._

The longer the night went on the more I wanted to stop loving him, yet the want to hear him speak, his voice whisper in my ear _too_ _fragile;_ to tell me hard truths that made me hurt, was undeniable. I wanted him to love me, and only me. I wanted him to give me endless attention and come at my beck and call.

_I wanted him to be mine until I couldn’t breathe anymore._

He would be my life line, my one and only thought. And I would be his.

This way of thinking wasn't made for reality, though. I knew this. I can’t control people’s feelings without being manipulative. I was terrible at manipulation, I had a conscience that guilt always kept in check. I couldn’t live with myself if I believed he had loved me for what I presented to him and not what I truly was. He didn’t have to love me inside and out, just the real things about me.

_I would love enough for the both of us._


	6. Resónerre.

I had been pacing for a few hours now when building security told me I was being too loud and the people under me couldn’t sleep.

_If I couldn’t sleep, why should they?_

I said ok and wished him a good night.

My entire apartment was dark, no light anywhere. I moved into the kitchen and checked the time on the stove while I opened the fridge and browsed its empty insides. It was 2:38 am and I decided I couldn’t stay inside anymore, I’d have to go somewhere right now or else my mind would stay trapped in this loop of thoughts about him forever.

I scrambled over to the trunk keeping the lights off.

I started pulling out clothes and grabbed a dress and a coat, throwing my clothes off. I didn't care if I was making a mess, _I had to leave_. I checked myself in the bathroom mirror, it was the first time I turned any of the lights on in my apartment. I turned and watched as the scattered rhinestones glittered against the tight gray fabric on my body. I leaned in closer to the mirror, swinging the cabinet open behind it. I rushed my makeup, _the club is dark anyway_. I spared myself another glance in the mirror, my hair was like a lion's, but I didn't care anymore. Turning off the light, I threw my coat over and skipped down the stairs. 

_I had to get out._

Distraction from my thoughts of him was what I needed.

I started down the block, trying to comb through my hair. The night felt so welcoming, a key to my cage. I let the cold breeze hit my face and the light from the street lamps beat on my closed eyes, I just needed to calm down for second. After some distance I turned a corner and in the middle of the street I saw the club sign.

_I would forget about him, just for a while._

After walking up to the bouncer, he looked me up and down.

“Back so soon, eh,”

“You wouldn’t believe the day-,”

“I never do,” he interrupted and let me through. “You better leave before 6 tonight,”

“Ill try Barii,” I said while walking through the doorway and into the club. I can’t even remember the first time I came to this club, Barii and I had gotten pretty close because of the multiple times he’s had to take me out of the club for sleeping at the bar.

I think Barii is one of my best friends in this place.

My town doesn't seem to have the most welcoming of atmospheres, but one thing it does have is night life.

Everyone comes to Resónerre.

All the students who can’t handle the stress, the locals who want to get out, even people like me who just need a distraction for a while. Everyone likes to be a different person, run away from their truths and live a life that isn’t their own.

I bent down and through the little curtained doorway which opened up to the huge main floor. The lights were always my favorite. Resónerre was known for it's lights, they weren’t irritating strobe lights like other clubs, they were purple and pink all the time, dimming and lighting the floor, occasionally just turning off for a second or two. Anonymity was valued in Resónerre, thats why its so popular. You could come to this place and dance however you wanted, with whoever you wanted.

_Resónerre was fun._


	7. Fun.

I loved being in the middle of the floor. Everyone around you, just far enough so you don't touch. It felt so good, to just have quiet for a while. No thoughts, no feelings, no _him_.

The music was so loud, I couldn’t hear myself think.

_This was exactly what I needed._

I liked to close my eyes, and just feel.

Feel my body move, feel the people around me, feel the careless way everyone carried themselves inside.

I liked dancing with the college students the most, people who were the same age as me. I would join groups of them, dance with the girls, then the boys, and move to the next group. I was most social when I was dancing, something about it was so care-free. I loved dancing with everyone. Occasionally people would pass me on the street and exchange glances with me, both of us knowing we’d met before but wouldn’t say a word or even remember exactly how we knew each other. Some even came up to me and talked if we had exchanged a proper greeting at some point inside the club.

I frequented this club, I practically became part of it. Everyone knew me and I didn't know them. That's how I liked it. 

I went over to the small bar in the corner, it was dimmly lit, just like the rest of the club.

“Anse, can I have a drink please~?” I asked. I seemed to know the club employees better than the employers themselves. I also seemed to act different in the club, very different.

“Yes, yes,” he called, “what do you want tonight?” He asked.

“Mmm surprise me?” 

“Alright,” he responded, he made a drink.

I drank what he handed to me.

I always drank what Anse made, no matter what it was. With his drinks in my system, I felt better. More calm I guess.

I returned to the floor. I danced alone for a long time, then what I assumed to be a student or someone young started dancing with me. This wasn’t unusual, I was well known in this club after all. I believe anyone who could recognize me in the club of anonymity deserved my dance. I enjoyed dancing with everyone, sometimes it was even a game. My own personal game of guess who.

I ran my right hand playfully down their chest to see if it was a man or woman partner. That was always my first course of action.

_A man._

I decided I would dance with them more, my guessing game could resume later. Our bodies seemed to be extremely in sync. If he went left so did I, to the right, right. Others approached me to dance as well during our time, but I payed them no attention. I would stick with the man who could read my mind and body. He wrapped his arms over my shoulders bringing me closer to him. Then they came down underneath my ribs and above my hips, he was respectful, and he tickled.

He was my favorite dancer that I’d met yet, a great partner I could dance all night with. He was quiet too, didn’t have to say one word to me to ask me questions.

 _Can I hold your waist?_ was asked with a slide of one hand, I answered by skimming my own over the back of it and pulling it over my stomach. Then came his other to meet it.

 _Can you turn around?_ was asked with the intertwining of his fingers with mine, the answer came a spin.

Facing each other we got closer, only an inch or two between us. I rested a hand on his shoulder, the other his hip. Both his hands now on my waist.

 _Can I pull you even closer?_ was asked with the glide of both his hands around to my back, the answer was given with our legs intertwined and our faces in front of each other. My left hand on his waist moved to his back, resting lightly on the spine of his lower back. The right hand on his shoulder moved to his head and through his curls. Curls, loose curls, down to below his ear.

_I knew it was him, he knew it was me._

I could feel the heat of his body against mine, we were so close. He pressed his forehead up to my own, he breathed through his nose; lips parted. I could feel him, every inch of him on my own body. I had never felt so close to anyone before, but I wanted him _closer_. I wanted him to fall straight into me, to just combine with my body. 

_I needed him closer._

He laughed, and picked up his head from against mine, a disruption I didn't want. I opened my eyes to see his face, his pretty face as though sculpted by gods. I could just barely see his deep green eyes that sparkled like gems. The kind you could get lost in and never find your way out again. The sight of his strong jaw and masterly molded features only invigorated me more. 

_Please come_ back. 

He did just that, but he didn't stop at my forehead. Instead he leaned in and past my mouth, then cheek to my ear.


	8. Theft.

“So, Fragile,” he whispered, “what a coincidence this is.”

His hot breath on my ear made me pull in closer, falling into him. I didn’t have any interest in speaking to him right now, all I wanted was his dance not his conversation.

I asked the question this time.

 _Can we do something other than talk?_ was asked by my left hand coming to his face and sliding across his jawline and his answer came as bite on ear, then kiss to my soft jaw, a pull on my hair to have my head tilt back, then a kiss under my chin, and finally my lips.

I thought about how his kiss would feel when we talked. If it would be mean and greedy, like his personality, or something I wouldn’t expect. This wasn’t what I expected. We kissed, but that was all. We continued to dance until I decided I wanted a drink. I walked back over to Anse.

“Back already?” Asked Anse.

“Just a water will suffice for now,” 

“And just who is that?” 

“Who do you mean?” I asked back, I was playing coy.

“The boy that hasn’t stopped looking at you since you walked over here,”

“Oh~, him,” I pretended as if I'd only realized who he was asking about, “just a boy. A boy who can dance.”

Anse handed the water to me, smirking. He was always supportive of my antics. 

“I see, if you say so. Go get your boy, Paris,” 

Off I went, back to the floor, after I took a sip or two from the water. We continued dancing, after a while I grew tired of feeling his body.

_I want to see his face again._

I grabbed his hands and led him. He trailed behind me as I took him up to the stairs which were the entrance to the second story of the club. It was much quieter up there.

We walked through another curtain at the top of the stairs.

“Chiara, its nice to see you,” I said to the woman tending the upstairs bar.

“Ahh back again I see, stressful night?”

“Stressful day, but a good night,” I responded as I continued leading him to one of the booth tables in the back.

“Stressful day?” he asked, “I can’t imagine why.”

“Shut up, I don’t wan’t to revisit the catastrophe that took place today,”

“Catastrophe. That’s a strong choice of word you know?” He asked.

“The only noun I can use to describe what happened,” 

He was making eye contact with me, a refreshing difference from the near blindness downstairs and his refusing to look at me during the day.

“You’re gonna give me my book back,” he said. This wasn’t a question, but a command.

“Yeah,” I said back quietly.

“Good, you ran off like a thief in the night,”

“I am a thief,”

“I know, you stole from _me_. I wonder if I can charge you with petty theft,”

“Please don’t, I just didn’t want to leave knowing that you were proud of yourself for that snarky comment,”

“Oh im snarky now. Really boosting my ego after telling me you hated meeting me,”

“At least I’m not lying right, hard truths are meant to hurt,”

“Yeah, I guess so,” he said.


	9. Soft.

We sat in silence next to each other, but we never stopped interacting.

My foot would hit his under the table, his pinky finger would touch my leg, my arm would touch his. They were subtle acts, but both us were doing it on purpose. Just knowing he was so close to me made me feel good. All I had to do was reach out and _touch_.

“Should we talk about what happened downstairs?” I asked him, finally breaking the silence between us. 

“Now, whatever could you mean?” He asked back. He smirked while picking up the drink Chiara had brought me, bringing it to his lips.

“Well, just the whole- thing?” 

I had no idea how to describe what had happened just moments before we went up those stairs. My body still hadn't completely calmed down since then. 

“You mean when,” he stopped talking. He ran his finger across the side of my jaw forcing my chin up at the end, “you did this?”

“Yeah, that,” I responded. I slinked back into myself. A natural reflex for me. He made me nervous, so nervous.

“Sit up straight, you have no reason to be embarrassed,” a repetition of what he said to me earlier when we first met. He leaned away from me, pressing his back firmly against he seat. Lifting his head, he grabbed the drink off the table and rubbed the condensation with his hand.

My cheeks were flushed. I hoped he was too preoccupied to notice, but he did. He always noticed everything. 

“Oh what do we have here,” he set his elbow on the table and grabbed my face in one hand, “I already told you that theres no reason to be embarrassed.”

He sat examining my face left to right, then over again. He brought my face down and closer to his.

I was scared again.

He had a way of being intimidating, like he could eat you whole had he wanted to. Like he could end you with one hit. He was the powerful one and I didn’t have a chance to beat him. I snapped my face away from his grip.

“Don’t be so feisty,” he said as he craned his neck to sip the drink in front of him, “you’ll crack like glass.”

“Glass? Please I’m not as fragile as you make me out to be,”

“No, you’re exactly as fragile as I think you are. All of your thoughts would stop if I snapped my fingers too fast,”

He was right and I knew it. Something about him filled me with so much fear and excitement. I was so wrapped up in the way he moved, I’d been following his right hand ever since we sat down. If it suddenly came towards me, theres no telling how I would respond.

“How do you notice such little things? How could you have possibly noticed that I was following your hand when I’d barely even turned my head?” I asked him.

“It’s a skill I’ve picked up,”

“A skill implies that you’ve practiced it,”

“Yes. You still don’t know me,”

I don’t know why but I felt more intrigued by his last comment than any.

_ What exactly didn't I know? And why do I feel so helpless and scared by him. _

_“Then why don’t you tell me,” I said._

__

“I don’t want to,”

__

“Oh lovely, thanks for making things simple. Conversation is a simple accommodation,”

__

He tilted his head to the right again as his eyes squinted.

__

“You're brave, aren’t you?”

__

“I suppose so. Why do you ask?” 

__

“I’ve just told you, you don’t know me and that I have a skill for observing people, yet you make an attempt to insult me,”

__

He'd given me a reason to be legitimately scared.

__

_Why would he say that to me?_

__

I can't help but wonder.

__

“Who exactly are you?” I asked

__

“I’d imagine you already know, my name is Sawyer,”

__

“Yeah but Sawyer what? Any last name, Sawyer,”

__

“Sawyer. Nothing else,”

__

“Why won’t you tell me? Do you enjoy making me wonder about you?” I asked.

__

“I don’t enjoy a lot of things, but you are something i’m starting to,”

__

“Awe, are you getting soft on me?” I asked, batting my lashes jokingly. 

__

“Me enjoying you will be anything but soft,”

__

_What._

__

"I think I need to go," I said, standing up front he table. 

__

I need to leave.

__

Something is not right.

__

Something is wrong.

__

_Why is he saying these things?_

__

_ Why am I so enticed by these feelings of intimidation? _

__


End file.
